


The Light that Wakes

by MirielOfGisborne



Series: Forget and Forgive [12]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Battle Of Five Armies, Alternate Universe - Bilbo Remains In Erebor, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Erebor Reclaimed, Alternate Universe - Post-Battle of Five Armies, Angst, Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield Feels, Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield Fluff, Coming Out, Domestic Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, Dwalin & Thorin Oakenshield Friendship, Dwarf Courting, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Dwarf/Hobbit Relationship(s), Dwarves, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Erebor, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV Bilbo Baggins, Post-Battle of Five Armies, Rebuilding Erebor, Return to Erebor, Romantic Angst, Romantic Fluff, Romantic Friendship, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Soul-Searching, Thorin Feels, Thorin is a Softie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2018-09-15 12:31:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9235295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MirielOfGisborne/pseuds/MirielOfGisborne
Summary: AU. Sequel to "Days of Agony".A month has passed since the Battle of the Five Armies, and Erebor is again home to the Dwarves in Thorin Oakenshield's Company, and to one Hobbit burglar. Thorin is closer to full recovery and to claiming Bilbo's heart. With the Hobbit New Year just starting, Bilbo has much to look forward to in the coming months, but is he really up to the challenge?





	1. Heart of the Mountain

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, dear readers!
> 
> It is with great pleasure that I am posting the first chapter of the sequel to "Days of Agony". Thank you to all those who have left kudos and comments on that story. And I hope you like this one, too!

When Bilbo woke, it was to the same white light that had greeted him the previous morning. But today there was more: Thorin’s shoulder, warm against his forehead, and his soft breathing. Bilbo opened his eyes and raised his head to look at him. Thorin was still sound asleep, looking peaceful beyond anything that the hobbit had seen in him before. Bilbo couldn’t help smiling, to himself, for the time being at the snowy highlights in Thorin’s beard that shone in the new sunlight like threads of silver.

Bilbo was glad that Thorin was not awake. He could simply lie there and look at him and think about how endless this moment felt and how impossible to put in words, even for him who usually knew how to turn a phrase. But there would have been too much to say, and only the heart could live all those things all at once. There was the moment itself, the start of a new year for Hobbits, and the beginning of a more hopeful age for the Dwarves of Erebor. There was the place he was in, so different and removed from the simple, cosy homes of the Shire, and yet so welcoming and full of life. And then there was the person that he lay next to, still looking frail and tired, but carrying on his shoulders that whole world that they were in. In a way, Bilbo thought, Thorin was the Heart of the Mountain, not the Arkenstone that he and his grandfather had loved so much. And Thorin was beginning to realise that himself.

Bilbo propped himself up on his elbows, shifting his gaze to the beautiful wave of light that came through the window all the way down inside the mountain. There was one last thing that held his thoughts that morning: the kiss that he and Thorin had shared the previous night and that had changed everything between them. That kiss was a beginning in itself, of a new adventure in Bilbo’s life that was unplanned for, like all adventures, but that, unlike others he’d taken part in, had no foreseeable end. He looked back at Thorin. He truly did not know what to expect and when, but for a strange first time in his 50 something years of life, it did not truly scare him. He knew that Thorin had his own new adventures ahead of him, to recover from his wounds and to take back his place as King, and he wanted to share in those adventures for as long as he would be able to. Of course, there was one particular new journey that was only their own and that Bilbo could no longer deny that he wanted to be part of.

He leaned over Thorin and kissed his sleeping lips again. Even weak as he was, it was enough to wake the Dwarf King. He smiled softly against Bilbo’s mouth and opened his eyes. As they parted, the look in Thorin’s eyes made Bilbo’s face heat up without warning. He wanted to hide it. He didn’t know why it kept happening, but it was very uncomfortable. Thorin kept smiling at him, undoubtedly reading everything that troubled him, then raised his good right hand to his face. His caress was filled with the promise of patience for all the things that were new and unnerving to Bilbo. It dimmed the fire in the hobbit’s face. He allowed his head to drop on Thorin’s chest without actually leaning on him. He no longer wanted to hide his embarrassment, but he needed the comfort of that closeness. The way Thorin’s fingers curled gentle in his hair made him feel safe even if he was still embarrassed.

“It’s going to take me a while to get used to this,” said Bilbo.

“We have time,” said Thorin, his voice as tender as his touch.

Bilbo raised his eyes to him again and smiled. “I suppose we do now.”

Thorin nodded, but then an expression of pain flashed on his face.

Bilbo knew it was not his soul that hurt. “Do you want me to help you sit up a bit?” he asked.

Thorin approved, so Bilbo provided whatever support he could to make up for Thorin’s lack of strength in his left arm, then fluffed up his pillows behind him.

“Shall I go look for Dwalin?” asked Bilbo as Thorin sat back.

“I wonder if he is up,” said Thorin with a little smirk.

Bilbo laughed. “Too much ale?”

Thorin raised his right eyebrow, which bore the healing but still very evident mark of a hostile blade above it. “Too long a night.”

“I can give it a try,” said Bilbo and climbed out of bed.

He put on his borrowed Dwarvish coat and walked out of the bedroom with a last look at Thorin. Indeed, it would take him a while to get used to this new feeling that he had, and that he had avoided for weeks although it had been there at the back of his mind and sometimes at the tingling tips of his fingers all along. It was the feeling that, in spite of having discovered how much bigger the world was than one might think when living in the Shire, there were yet greater reaches of his own heart that he was about to set foot into and that proved more elusive even than a dragon hiding in its golden hoard.

Bilbo went on to find Dwalin, and it was not without some apprehension that he anticipated this encounter. He imagined that his mood would be significantly aggravated by being woken from a drunken sleep, or perhaps he would in fact be in a less combative state of mind. For some reason, Bilbo’s steps did not take him to the living quarters where he knew Dwalin and his brother to be residing, but to the Banquet Hall. Perhaps it was because a little part of him expected to find the great Dwarf warrior half bent over a table with a pint of ale still within his hand’s reach.

To his surprise, he did find Dwalin in the Banquet Hall, but he was neither drunkenly asleep, nor was there any ale in sight around him. He was indeed sitting at one of the tables, but he was engaged in what looked like very coherent conversation with Dain. Knowing his light step, Bilbo cleared his throat as he approached them in order to announce his presence.

“Oh, good morning, Master Baggins,” said Dain with a thin smile. His bright red mane gleamed like a ring of fire around his head.

“Good morning, Lord Dain,” said Bilbo. “Dwalin,” he added, turning to the dwarf that he was after.

Dwalin responded only with a small nod. The cold glint in his eyes made Bilbo sure that his greeting would have come out with a snarl if he had spoken it.

“I came looking for you,” said Bilbo, not really letting it get to him. “Thorin needs your help with getting out of bed.”

“Of course,” said Dwalin, his voice low, but thankfully snarl-free. He got up, turning to Dain.

“Coming with you,” said Dain, standing up as well.

Bilbo watched them go but did not follow them. He preferred to stay behind, lured by the silence of the great hall, empty of dwarves, but bearing the usual marks of a happy Yule feast. The silence itself was an echo of a happy feast, hovering like a spell over the chaos remaining on the tables and flowing through the golden garlands hanging untouched from the ceiling, walls and pillars. It was as if the magic that had turned the trolls into stone at sunrise had worked there as well, only Erebor was a city carved in stone and it welcomed the sunrise. 

“Bilbo!” a voice sounded from nowhere, startling the hobbit although it was familiar.

“Dori!” said Bilbo, turning to where the voice was coming from, which was the entrance to the Banquet Hall, “Good morning.”

“And good morning to you,” said Dori, looking surprisingly fresh.

“I thought you might sleep in after last night,” said Bilbo.

“Oh, I didn’t stay for much longer. Ori and Nori, however… we might not see them walking about until, well, later. Bifur and Bofur, too.”

Bilbo smiled. “Well, they’ve earned the right to enjoy a good party.”

“We all have, I should think,” said Dori, “but only some of us have earned the privilege of cleaning up after a good party.”

Bilbo’s smile turned quickly into laughter. “I would like to share that privilege with you, if I may.”

“Certainly.”

They set to work, with Dori rounding up the plates and trays, and Bilbo being in charge of the pints and goblets.

“How’s Thorin doing?” asked Dori as he piled up some empty plates.

“He’s well. Dwalin and Dain are with him now.”

“I imagine it will be a while still until he can get back to normal.”

“I expect so,” said Bilbo. “Another two or three weeks perhaps.”

“Mhm,” mused Dori, “that means we will have you around for that time at least.”

“Yes, yes, not going anywhere for now,” said Bilbo with a smile that suddenly had a nervous flutter behind it. He watched Dori closer for an expression or any sign that he knew of his special bond with Thorin. He averted his gaze when Dori looked back to him, but he had to wonder if the others knew as well, not just Balin and Dwalin, and of course Fili and Kili. Every conversation he’d had with them had left him suspecting that they were trying to encourage him in some way, but perhaps it had just been wishful thinking. It was very natural for each of them to take an interest in Thorin’s condition, so there did not have to be a hidden reason why they kept asking Bilbo about him. At the same time, it was just as natural for them to want to make him feel welcome. They were friends, after all. But there was always something, little things in their tone of voice or in their eyes, that made him wonder if it was not more than friendly talk, if they were not trying to tell him something that he may have wanted to hear.

“We are grateful that you stayed,” said Dori, giving Bilbo a warm look.

Bilbo smiled back. “I thought I could be of help.”

Dori lowered his head in a little bow of approval. They continued their work filling the vast silence of the hall with their voices. Soon, Bombur joined them, and the conversation became even livelier. Bombur, who had remained at the party until much later than Dori, recounted how the rest of the night had gone and especially the best stories he had heard. Bilbo listened with pleasure, remembering how much he loved the quiet joy of the day after all the great feasts that he had attended at home in the Shire. It was inevitable that his thoughts would turn home sooner or later. He had spent all Yuletide festivities there, and he had fond memories of more of them than he could name.

When they were finished and Bilbo took his leave, he carried those thoughts with him, but as he walked alone towards Thorin’s room, they turned wistful, wavering over the cold emptiness of Bag End in the dead of winter, and, even more darkly, over a possible destructive takeover by the Sackville-Bagginses.

He found Thorin sitting comfortably in his armchair, fully dressed, and talking to Dwalin, who was sitting in a chair next to him. They both turned their heads to the door as Bilbo opened it, but Dwalin did so as he finished a sentence with the words “Blue Mountains”.

Bilbo stopped in the doorway. “Uh, sorry, am I interrupting?”

Dwalin did not have time to react to his question, but if he had had it, Bilbo was sure he would have glared at him even if it was not his room. Thorin smiled at him in a way that Bilbo was glad to have been missed by Dwalin, as he was looking elsewhere.

“No,” said Thorin, “come in.”

Bilbo walked in, closing the door behind him and approached them with more reserve than he would have if Thorin had been alone.

“We were making plans for a journey back to the Blue Mountains, to help my sister and the others prepare for their return to Erebor,” said Thorin. “Dwalin has offered to go.”

“Oh,” said Bilbo, looking at Dwalin. Now the dwarf’s expression was unreadable, but it didn’t look as hostile as it had been earlier. It wasn’t lost on Bilbo that the Shire was on the way to the Blue Mountains, but he chose to say nothing about it. “When will you be going?”

“I don’t know yet,” said Dwalin, “there are preparations to be made. As soon as possible.” Then he turned again to Thorin. “Very well then,” he said, getting up. “I’m glad we’ve got that settled. Think I should take Fili and Kili with me?”

“You can ask them,” said Thorin. “But I think they might want to savour the time they have left here without their mother around.”

“Right,” said Dwalin, laughing, then glanced briefly at Bilbo. “Well, I’ll leave you to it then,” he said after his laughter subsided.

Thorin nodded at him in thanks, and Dwalin walked out of the room.

Bilbo ‘s gaze remained fixed on Thorin, who was returning the attention. Something had changed in the air between the three of them, between him, Thorin and Dwalin. He didn’t know why, but it felt lighter. He gave Thorin a smile, and told him he would be right back.

“Dwalin,” he called, coming out into the sitting room just in time to catch the other dwarf.

Dwalin stopped and turned. His face was easy to read now. It spoke of a genuine wish to know what Bilbo could possibly want from him again. They had been in a similar circumstance the day before when Bilbo had come out after him to talk about himself and Thorin. It had not gone very well. At least, now he didn’t seem to be in a bad mood to begin with.

“I,” began Bilbo a little apprehensively still, “I wanted to ask. You are not leaving because of me, are you?”

“No, Bilbo, and I am not leaving now. I’m staying until Thorin is back on his feet.”

“I see,” said Bilbo. Dwalin’s neutral tone encouraged him, but his answer caused him to think about his own plans of whether to stay in Erebor or return home. “Well, can I ask you for a favour then?”

“What may that favour be?”

“If you’re going to the Blue Mountains, your road will take you through the Shire. Do you think you could take a small detour and check on my house? I’m a little worried about some relatives of mine and about what they might be doing in my absence.”

“You fear they might steal something?” asked Dwalin simply, not even questioning the fact that Bilbo had not asked him to take him along for the journey so that he could finally return to where he belonged.

“More like move in or sell all my things at auction.”

“Mhm, I see,” said Dwalin, setting his hands in his hips and looking a little menacing while doing it. “Hobbits have their own brand of dragons then,” he said, incredibly enough cracking a little smile.

“Huh, I suppose we do. They’re much smaller, but just as nasty.”

Even more incredibly, Dwalin burst into actual laughter. “Right then, I’ll have a look at your house for you.”

Bilbo smiled at him. “Thank you.”

Dwalin walked away with a nod of acknowledgement, leaving Bilbo more than a little bewildered behind him, and not just because the formerly frosty dwarf had suddenly lost his anger with him. He was just as confused about the thoughts that had stirred in his mind when he had heard that Dwalin would only be leaving after Thorin had recovered enough to be able to take care of himself. Bilbo was not there just to take care of Thorin. He knew that very well now, but Dwalin’s journey, which was going to take him to Hobbiton at Bilbo’s request, was a window of opportunity for him to return home if he decided he wanted to. He had until then to decide, and if he chose to stay, he knew that, past that point, he would no longer be able to pretend that he was there just to help.

He went back inside Thorin’s bedroom, not even hoping to keep his worries to himself, but meaning to try.

“Anything the matter?” asked Thorin within seconds of getting a glimpse of Bilbo.

The hobbit smiled at Thorin’s unfailing intuition and sat down at his side. “No. I asked Dwalin to pass through Hobbiton when he leaves and have a look at Bag End. I fear my relatives might prefer to start thinking me dead and help themselves to my fortune and to my house.”

“I see,” said Thorin. He seemed intent on leaving it at that.

“Did you say something to Dwalin?” asked Bilbo, taking the opportunity.

“About what?”

“Well, he’s no longer treating me like I killed you.”

Thorin gazed at him subtly before he spoke. “You killed something about me.”

Bilbo returned that gaze, knowing that he didn’t have to ask his question in words.

“Something in the way he sees me,” answered Thorin. “Do not apologize,” he said, noticing Bilbo’s impulse to do just that. “It has always been there. I hid it well, but he could have seen it if he had wanted to.”

“Balin seems aware of it,” said Bilbo.

Thorin nodded. “I never spoke to him about it, but he does not seem surprised, indeed.” His eyes glowed suddenly with something very beautiful that resembled relief, the relief that he could finally be himself.

“I think the others know something, too,” said Bilbo. “I suspect they’ve been trying to encourage me to, well, stay. Fili and Kili know for certain.”

Thorin broke into a wider smile. “Thankfully, they have not said anything to me.”

“No, I don’t expect they would work up the courage to mention it to you.”

Now Thorin laughed, and Bilbo thought that was a sound he wanted to hear more often. “So why is Dwalin the only one who sees things differently? I thought this kind of thing was not much of a problem for your people.”

“It is not the ideal situation for someone like me,” said Thorin. “And Dwalin is fond of ideals.”

“Aren’t we all?” said Bilbo.

“Perhaps.”

“You still haven’t told me what made him change his mind.”

“He wanted to get away for a while to sort out his thoughts. That is why he offered to go to the Blue Mountains.”

“Away from you?”

Thorin nodded.

“And me, I suppose.”

“From me mostly,” Thorin countered, and his voice carried a very clear note of grief.

“But he has accepted… who you are,” said Bilbo.

“Not with his heart,” replied Thorin. “For that he needs time, alone.” His gaze dropped from Bilbo’s to an undefined spot on the ground. Now he looked as heartbroken as he sounded. “I know it will take him time to forgive me,” he said, looking back up at Bilbo, “but I am glad that he has stopped blaming you.”

Bilbo wanted to get up and take Thorin into his arms. “I would apologize again, but I know you’ll stop me.”

Thorin looked at him trying to smile, but not quite finding the will for it. Then Bilbo did as he felt and encircled Thorin with his arms, letting him hide his pain in his chest. “It’s not very fair, is it?” he said, stroking Thorin’s hair softly. “I’m sure he’ll come around. He loves you too much.” Thorin emerged from the folds of Bilbo’s shirt, finally looking like his heart could be mended. “What do you say about some lunch?” asked Bilbo.

Thorin agreed and let him go. He remained waiting on his armchair as Bilbo went to the Royal Kitchen in search of something particularly delightful for lunch, but Thorin’s image, wounded both in body and in spirit, never left his mind.  



	2. A Time to Come

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After a long, unplanned hiatus, I've finally managed to get back to writing and to this story. Hope someone is still interested in reading it :))  
> I had missed Bilbo and Thorin, so I'm glad I can be with them again <3

Bilbo and Thorin had a pleasant lunch together, with no lack of delicious food, or conversation. But when it was all said and done, Bilbo started wondering if perhaps there wouldn’t be times when they would be lacking in topics for conversation, now that Thorin was feeling better and he would obviously be awake for a greater part of the day. The thought swirled in his mind like a twist of wind that cleared away all connections with the quiet world, where no storms raged and everything was in its place.

“Bilbo?”

A voice came through to him in the storm, clear and strong, stronger than the wind.

“Yes,” he said, a little startled. He looked into Thorin’s eyes. They were just as clear as his voice had been, clear as the Shire sky on a young summer morning, and the same light shone in them. Suddenly, there was no more storm.

“Is there something the matter?”

“No, no, nothing… Well, I should take this back,” he said, indicating the remainders of a well-enjoyed meal that lay on the table between them.

“You can ask Bombur, or Dori,” said Thorin.

“No, no, it’s fine. I can do it. They’ve cleared enough tables for one day.”

Thorin smiled at him in his characteristic concealed fashion. His smiles always had something hidden under their surface. It had been one of the things that had shaken Bilbo out of his comfort the first time he had met Thorin in his home in the Shire. Bilbo himself was no stranger to multiple meanings hidden under words, but most of the people he met around the Shire were simple folk that lived their uncomplicated lives out in the open. He was unused to eyes and faces that shared a likeness to the deep lakes of the mountains, rippling only slightly on the surface, but harbouring vast currents underneath.

Bilbo smiled back as he gathered the empty plates. “So, what shall we do today? I could read something to you, but I don’t think there’s any book around here that I can actually read.”

Thorin’s smile widened, and with it the lake of meanings under it. “I need to have a talk with… everyone, today,” said Thorin, his tone gaining a weighty note of responsibility that had become very familiar to Bilbo. “Taking Erebor back was only part of the problem, the only part I seriously thought about, to be honest.”

And he was honest. Bilbo could see a thread of light streaking deep into his thoughts and illuminating them briefly, at least the part of them that held worry for the year ahead.

“You mean making this into a place to live again,” said Bilbo.

Thorin nodded.

“Well, it’s not so bad now.”

“It is not a place to live a lifetime, and more,” said Thorin.

Bilbo understood that he didn’t just mean the year ahead. He meant all the years to come in Erebor, for himself, his people there and in the Blue Mountains, and those who hadn’t yet been born. They all needed Erebor to be a home again, a place they could live in and thrive.

“No, I suppose not,” said Bilbo.

Thorin recovered his smile, but it didn’t carry back much of its unspoken mystery. “I hope there is a time when you can read to me to fill our days, but that time is not now.”

Bilbo could not stop himself from blushing a hot shade of red. He preferred not to think of everything that lay not very deeply beneath Thorin’s words. It was enough to concentrate on his self-appointed task of clearing the table and on the fact that there was plenty for both of them to do in the near future.

“I suppose not,” he said, cringing at repeating himself, and keeping his eyes low on the pile of plates and trays in his arms. Then, after a prolonged moment of silence from Thorin, he looked back to him and saw no real reason for him to blush after all. Thorin’s expression was now devoid of anything hidden, showing him nothing but kindness and love. “I, well,” Bilbo faltered, recovering his breath and the pale roses of his cheeks, “should I stay?”

“Of course, you can stay if you want.”

“I mean, do I have to?”

“No, you do not have to.”

“All right, then. I might… take a look outside in the meantime.”

“That sounds like a fine idea,” said Thorin, a faint echo in his voice of wanting to join him.

Bilbo wanted to say that there would be a time for that as well, sooner rather than later, but Thorin had something else to say instead.

“Since you mentioned reading, perhaps you could help us with our library, when you need something to do,” said Thorin.

“Oh?”

Bilbo remembered having a conversation with Balin about Thorin’s gold sickness in a dusty room full of cobweb-cloaked shelves, some toppled over, some still standing, but all holding thick tomes and rolled-up scrolls.

“You do not need to know our language. I can ask Ori to work with you. But we need to have the library cleaned and restored at some point, preferably soon.”

“I imagine you have a lot of important documents in there,” said Bilbo.

“We do.”

“I’ll be happy to help, yes. It sounds like something I would love to do, in fact.”

“I thought as much,” said Thorin.

Bilbo smiled back again. “Well, I should take these to the kitchen. Shall I tell… everyone that you want to speak to them?”

Thorin nodded, laughing quietly.

“Does everyone include Fili and Kili?”

“Always.”

“I see. They are to inherit this whole place, aren’t they?”

“Yes, they are,” said Thorin, a note of pride seeping into his voice.

For all their youth and all the rambunctiousness that came with it, Fili and Kili were the future kings of the Dwarves of Middle Earth, and Thorin had taken back Erebor for them, too, the city he had been born in, and the city they had the right to live in and rule. Even after having come all that way and learned so much about the ways of the Dwarves, it was hard for Bilbo to really grasp the idea of someone being or becoming a king, of holding the fate of many others in one’s hands. Even looking right at Thorin, who was exactly that, a king, it was still hard to really get his head around the idea of it. He himself had held the fate of Thorin’s people in his hands for a while, he knew that. So much of their future had depended on him and his abilities as a burglar after all, but that had been different. It had been more than any Hobbit of his time had done to leave his mark upon the world outside the borders of the Shire, but it had still been a singular event, a one-time choice that he had made because part of him wanted to see what lay beyond his own land, and another part wanted to help this bunch of exiled Dwarves. It was nothing like taking on a lifetime responsibility for their welfare, however, and that was exactly what Thorin had been gifted with at birth, and what had been passed on to Fili and Kili. It could have been easily seen as a burden, and perhaps it was, but that was not what he had heard, now or ever, in Thorin’s voice, or what he had seen in Fili or Kili’s more serious demeanour.

Bilbo nodded slowly to Thorin, taking his temporary leave and promising to convey his wish for a serious conversation about the future of Erebor to those concerned, and walked out of the room. Compared to what still felt like a burden to him, caring for an entire race, the pile of dishes in his arms, the remains of his lunch with Thorin, felt very light and easy to bear to the Royal Kitchen.

Not to any great surprise, he found Bombur and Dori there, who promptly offered to take over his unwashed dishes. Bilbo refused, sending them to spread word of Thorin’s plans instead, and washed the dishes himself. It seemed better that way, more equitable. It was their world, after all, that had to be put back together in the coming year. It was his as well, in a way. He knew that he was welcome there and he actually felt welcome, like he was part of it, even, but it was still their world more than it was his, and what Thorin had in mind to say was more for their ears and their able arms. Of course, their able arms were already aptly employed in cleaning up after the great Yuletide feast from the night before, which Bilbo had gladly offered to help with. He was still helping the Dwarves with a lot of things, it seemed, the things he was good at besides burglary.

He had told Thorin that he preferred to go outside rather than stay for the big council meeting, but now he felt like going to see the library first, another item that he was qualified to help with in the restoration of Erebor. He had not been there since before the battle. He didn’t remember much of what it looked like, just that it smelled of dust.

It smelled less like that a month later. There was even more light inside, some of it natural, and no more cobwebs that he could see. The shelves were still mostly in disarray, but it definitely looked like someone had already begun cleaning the place. And as Bilbo advanced into the room, it became very likely that he would find out who that someone was right away. He could clearly hear the soft and familiar sound of pages being turned. He inched farther into the room to see where the sound was coming from and who was turning the pages. He found Ori hunched over a table and leafing through a thick book with dark, bulky covers.

“Hello,” he said, in a gentle tone, as he knew that those hunched over books were easily startled.

Ori sprang up, looking at him a little surprised. “Oh, hello, Bilbo,” he said, smiling eventually.

“I hear you enjoyed the party last night,” said Bilbo, walking up to him.

“Yes, yes, I did. It was quite a feast.”

“I imagine you had them in the Blue Mountains as well.”

“Oh, certainly, but we haven’t had them in Erebor before. At least I haven’t,” said Ori. His shoulders descended a little as he relaxed from his initial surprise.

“Right.” A moment of silence passed between them, not awkward, but rather a moment that lent itself to contemplation rather than to outspoken expression of their thoughts. It did not have to be said that it would take everyone time to adjust to the idea that they had a home in Erebor again, those who had been born there and those for whom it had only been a legend thus far alike. “Are you in charge of restoring the library then?” asked Bilbo, returning to the practical side of things.

“I suppose you could say that,” said Ori, closing the book he had been browsing and standing up. “I like books.”

Bilbo smiled back to him. “Yes, so do I.”

“Yes, I noticed you had a nice collection in your home.”

“Oh, well, it’s not much, just a few books that I enjoy. It’s certainly nothing like this,” he said, looking up and all around him at the tall stone shelves filled with scrolls, stacks of papers, and not a small amount of books. It was the first time that he was actually looking at the room itself, and thinking about what it contained. He could imagine spending days in there without wanting to come out even if he couldn’t understand the language that all those pages were written in. Just the thought of being surrounded by so much history and knowledge that he was unfamiliar with was enough.

“No, only the Chamber of Mazarbul is said to be a match for this, but not entirely,” said Ori.

Bilbo looked at him bearing a question in his eyes.

“The chamber of records in Moria, our first home,” explained Ori. “This contains far more than records. Our best literature is here, our poetry, our songs.”

“Did you not have songs when your people lived in Moria?”

“We did, of course, but most of them were never recorded in writing at the time. It was in Erebor that we started concerning ourselves with art, and giving time to writing down our stories.”

 “I see,” said Bilbo. “So it was not just about mining gold and acquiring wealth.”

“No, certainly not.”

“Well, would you like any help? Thorin said that we could do this together.”

“Of course, I would very much welcome that!”

“Right then,” said Bilbo, setting his hands on his hips, and forgetting all about his plans for a walk out in the sun.

By the time they decided to stop for the day, the sun was long gone, retreating powerless before the long darkness that reigned over winter. Bilbo had noticed the slow fading of the waves of natural light that came into the library, but had only paid marginal attention to it. There was enough firelight to make up for the sleeping sun, and enough interesting things to do. Ori had managed to clear the great room of dust, but there was still some initial sorting to be done between books, administrative records, and historical documents. Even if Bilbo didn’t understand the Dwarvish language, he still found everything fascinating – the deep, faded yellow of the old paper, the intricacies of the wooden rollers that held together the scrolls, the various seals that appeared here and there, and not in the least the surprising artistry of the script. These were not texts that had been jotted down in a hurry by an unskilled hand. There was an obvious attention to detail and beauty, not the swirling, fairy beauty of Elvish script, but a more robust, austere style, yet not without its own appeal. It occurred to him that it was the kind of writing that could be adequately set in stone as well as on paper, and Dwarves certainly loved writing in stone.

Ori read to Bilbo the titles of the documents that they were sorting, and so he had further reason to be fascinated. At the same time, it left no room for silence of any kind, making their time together into an adventure of its own kind, slowly unravelling the past of the kingdom.

They only thought to leave the rest of it for another day when they remembered that they loved eating as much as they loved books. Ori extinguished some of the larger candles in the room, leaving only a lantern hanging from the ceiling, and then they set out to find what plans were being made for dinner.

Bilbo went on to see Thorin first. He was alone and looked so exhausted that every thought of asking him if he wanted to have dinner with the others perished from Bilbo’s mind. He had a stack of papers in his lap and he was studying one of them when Bilbo walked into his room. He looked up from it, his expression visibly brightened by the sight of the hobbit.

Bilbo smiled to him. “You’ve been looking at papers all day, too, I see,” he said.

Thorin raised his eyebrows, questioning Bilbo’s remark.

“I’ve been in the library with Ori,” he explained, “but I think we had a better time than you did.”

Thorin flashed a faint smirk. “It is usually a better time to look at papers from the past.” He put the page that he was studying back with the others, then laid the entire stack on the table next to him.

Bilbo took this as a sign that he was done with papers for that day, and went to sit by his side. “So how did it go?”

Thorin sighed and settled more comfortably into his armchair. “Well enough, but the sooner I get out of here, the better.”

“Of course, but I don’t think it’s a good idea to push yourself.”

Thorin eyed him. “No one does.”

“A few more weeks is not that bad, is it?”

“I suppose not.”

Thorin said these words out loud, but it was not what he was thinking. It was easy for Bilbo to read his true feelings, and he couldn’t blame him for them. No one could be blamed for wanting to go back to a life that waited with so many new challenges. Sometimes, there was not much to be done, however, other than being patient. Not that patience was one of Thorin’s strengths.

Bilbo laid his hand over Thorin’s. “Really, Thorin, it won’t be that long now. You’re alive. That’s what matters most to everyone. I think that’s mostly what we celebrated last night.”

Thorin looked at him, his beautiful eyes wide open.

“You have all the time in the world now, to rebuild your kingdom. I know, it’s going to be a lot of work, but you don’t have to do it all tomorrow, and you certainly don’t have to do it alone.”

Thorin accepted Bilbo’s hand into his own, and with it his wisdom.

“We’re probably going to have this conversation a lot in the next few weeks, aren’t we?” asked Bilbo.

Thorin laughed, unable to deny that he would revert to his impatience soon enough.

“You were right,” said Bilbo, “we will not have to look too far for things to do with our time.”

“No, I think not.”

“Perhaps it’s better that way.”

“Perhaps.”

If the day that had just past almost without his even noticing was any indication of what the time to come would be like for him in Erebor, Bilbo could rest assured that there would not be much to worry about in terms of filling time. Winters in the Shire could be a little like that, but he always used the opportunity to live mostly in his books. This year, he could have easily used the dark season to write his own book about his adventure with the Dwarves, but his fiftyfirst winter had other things in store for him, it seemed. He was quite sure that he might make a second book out of it.  


	3. Walk in the Sun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, dear readers! I'm back after another long hiatus, hopefully to stick around this time.  
> If you're still out there, I hope you enjoy this new chapter!
> 
> *Mwa*  
> ~ Miriel

A couple of weeks into the new year, Bilbo’s life had settled into the closest thing to comfort that he had known since leaving home almost 2 years before. It wasn’t like being back home, but his days followed a similar path one after another, with no major challenges. It was a welcome change.

It did not mean, however, that he had made no new discoveries. On the contrary, every day that he spent on his appointed task of bringing the Royal Library of Erebor back to its former glory came with something he had not known before about the Dwarves and about Middle Earth in general. It was the kind of novelty that he was accustomed to and that he had always enjoyed delving into. It was the safe kind of novelty that he could enjoy from a distance because it lived only in “papers from the past,” as Thorin liked to say. Ori always read out loud the titles of the documents and books that they handled, and sometimes, he went into detail about some of them, those that looked more interesting than others.

In fact, he had not seen much of Ori the previous day, as the young dwarf had been called into Thorin’s chambers to take notes and draft some documents of the present. This had been happening more and more often lately, as plans for restoring Erebor were gaining detail under Thorin’s increasingly involved supervision. It had not happened before, however, for Ori to be shunning his library duties for an entire day. Bilbo did not hold that against him, of course, as he knew how important it was to turn Erebor into a real home again, but he did hope that Ori would join him again the next day, at least for half the time.

His hope was rewarded quickly when Ori walked into the library that morning, a short while after Bilbo had sat down at his table, where a stack of books was waiting for him from the previous day.

“Good morning to you, Bilbo,” said Ori, nodding his head and smiling, but looking a little tired.

“Good morning,” said Bilbo and tried to make up for Ori’s tired smile by putting more brightness into his own.

“I am sorry I did not return yesterday,” said Ori, as he sat down in front of Bilbo. “Thorin needed me for the entire day almost, and then I wanted to put some of my notes in order.”

“No need to apologise,” replied Bilbo. “I understand.”

Ori took a deep breath and let it out in a great sigh of relief that looked a little too great for it to be brought on only by Bilbo’s understanding. The hobbit frowned a bit at this, hoping that he would get an explanation.

“Thorin was not in the best of moods yesterday,” said Ori, his voice lowering almost to a whisper even though he was alone with Bilbo in the room. “I think he’s had about enough of being locked up in the dark.”

Bilbo had to admit that he had not gained the same impression of Thorin when he had seen him the previous evening, at least not a very strong impression that his day had been marked by a particularly foul mood. In truth, over the past two weeks, he only saw Thorin at the beginning and at the end of the day, and by the time he got to him in the evening, he was already too exhausted to show any real signs of anger or frustration. There was a definite sense of him having reached the last bits of his patience, but it was never spewed out in a blaze of fury. It was more of an afterthought that diminished his voice and slowed his gestures. What Thorin’s mood required of Bilbo was only tenderness, and that was what he gave.

“Yes, he has,” replied Bilbo. “He’s been in there for a long time. It’s not exactly what he is used to from what I’ve learned about him.”

Ori broke into as much of a smirk as he was able to produce. “No, not exactly. With that in mind, I suppose his mood could be a lot worse.”

They both laughed and resumed their work. They continued until around noon, when Dwarves usually ate lunch. Bilbo had joined Ori in the past few days, but today he decided to pay Thorin a visit even if it meant interrupting some important meeting over lunch.

What he found in Thorin’s room was not what he had expected, however. He opened the door quietly to keep his presence as unintrusive as possible, but he was the one who was startled, so startled in fact that he remained there, in the doorway between the inside of Thorin’s bedroom and the rest of Erebor, for a few minutes.

Thorin was on his feet, supported only by Dwalin’s hands held out in front of him. They were halfway between Thorin’s trusted armchair and the nearest seating available, which was the writing desk near one of the windows. This meant that they had made a few successful steps. Neither of them looked as if they were working particularly hard at walking, or providing support respectively. Even if Bilbo had tried his best to live up to a hobbit’s fame of being surprisingly light on his feet, both Thorin and Dwalin raised their eyes at him as he appeared in the door frame. Thorin looked nothing like Ori had described him earlier. He looked elated, hopeful only as Bilbo had seen him that day at the top of the Carrock when they had gazed upon the distant silhouette of the Lonely Mountain, shimmering in the mild sunlight of early autumn. That day felt so far away now, and yet so close. They had come much farther now, to the very end of their journey, to the very heart of the Lonely Mountain.

Bilbo looked into Thorin’s eyes and saw the same mild sunlight in them starting to fade with every moment that he kept staring at him without saying anything. He realised that his expression could have been mistaken for disappointment if someone had not looked inside his head and seen that it was mere surprise of the most unexpected kind. Although perhaps he should have expected, and hoped for this wonder to occur soon enough. After all, Thorin had been confined to his private rooms for longer than even the most patient person would have deemed tolerable. And yet, somehow, Bilbo was surprised to find him walking again, or at least attempting to walk with someone else’s support.

“Thorin,” he said, glad that at least his voice came out as unmistakeably relieved, and finally stepped inside the room, closing the door behind him. “You’re up!”

“Well, not entirely,” said Dwalin. “It will be a while until he can go very far on his own, but still, you might call this progress.”

Bilbo thought he could hear a hint of playfulness in Dwalin’s voice, and something in the dwarf’s collected posture told him that it was not just an impression. He had the distinct feeling that he was witnessing the way Dwalin usually talked around Thorin when they were not involved in battles for their ancestral lands.

“In fact,” continued Dwalin, “I think I might even suggest we all take a walk outside.”

“Outside?” said Thorin, shifting his gaze to Dwalin.

“As far as you can make it, of course.”

Thorin did not seem capable of saying anything, but his eyes spoke everything there was to be spoken of his desire to feel the sun upon his face again.

“I think the sun is out today, right, Bilbo?” said Dwalin.

“I think so,” said Bilbo, “I haven’t really been out yet.”

Dwalin ignored Bilbo’s lack of knowledge about the day’s weather. “Can you take over for a minute? I need to get his coat.”

Bilbo almost didn’t realise that he was being talked to and what he was being asked to do, but Dwalin’s persistent stare became more than obvious quickly.

“Yes, of course.”

He walked over to Thorin, ready to let his hands lean into his own for support, as Dwalin had been doing until then. He didn’t know how heavily Thorin would be leaning on him, but he was confident that it would not be more than he could handle. Otherwise, Dwalin would not have made that request of him.

Indeed, when their hands met, Thorin’s grip was not a heavy one. It was more like he needed the reassurance of something to hold on to while he kept himself standing, rather than proper physical support. His hands were very warm and very large. Bilbo had become used to the size difference between himself and most Dwarves, particularly Thorin and Dwalin, such that he did not notice these details any longer, but he noticed now how Thorin’s hands had completely engulfed his own and how their fingers wrapped gently around his wrists. He also noticed, now rather than earlier, that Thorin’s hands were not as rough as they had been. In the absence of wind, swords and hammers, they had acquired a subdued quality that was as close to softness as was probably possible for a Dwarf male.

Bilbo found the same softness in Thorin’s eyes when he looked up at him. The flame of anticipation that he had seen in them just a minute before had mellowed into warm, hopeful relief. He found himself smiling back at it, and almost forgetting that Dwalin was also in the room with them.

And he would have forgotten if Dwalin hadn’t appeared behind Thorin shortly, carrying his grandfather’s cloak that he had worn before. He wrapped it around his shoulders, and, even if he had done it carefully, it had still startled Thorin slightly. He too had forgotten for a short moment that anyone other than Bilbo was in the room. From the brief look that Bilbo had caught in Dwalin’s eye, the loyal dwarf had noticed, but he chose not to let it bother him too much.

“Shall we, then?” he said, coming up at their side.

Thorin gazed back at him and approved with a slight nod of his head. His touch became lighter on Bilbo’s hands. The hobbit understood that he needed to let go and allow Dwalin to take back his place. Bilbo stepped back and released Thorin’s hands. Dwalin was quick to return his support to his king, then started leading him slowly out of the room.

Bilbo remained behind for a few seconds. One of the feelings that had dimmed in him over the past two weeks was the sensation that he was in a world too big for him, taking part in things too heavy for his heart. That feeling descended upon him now once again as he had watched Dwalin place that heavy, fur-lined cloak upon Thorin’s shoulders, which made him look like a king more than he did without it, and as he watched the two of them walk towards the door of Thorin’s bedchamber at a pace that was comfortable for him, but that made this moment feel like a solemn ritual performed with the utmost care. The fact was, it did not merely feel like a solemn ritual. It was one, in a way. The first day of walking out of one’s room after nearly dying and being confined to it for weeks would have been an important moment for anyone, but Thorin was not quite anyone, even if he was just as much a mortal as everyone else. This was not an important moment just for him, or for Bilbo and Dwalin, or for any of his friends. It was important for a whole race, even though only a few of them would be witnessing it.

It took a glance back from Dwalin for Bilbo to snap out of his thoughts. He finally started after them and closed the door as they slowly passed into the sitting room and further on. He continued to follow behind while they traversed the corridor to the Great Hall. There would have been room for him to walk next to Thorin, but something kept him from that. He was more comfortable there for now, in the shadow that Thorin and Dwalin’s huddled forms cast into the candle-lit hallway.

As they approached the Great Hall, the corridor widened and branched out into several smaller corridors. At the same time, other dwarves started to appear here and there, not from the Company, but from the Iron Hills. Their reaction was understandably and invariably one of great surprise. They all stopped in their tracks and stared for a bit, as if to make sure that they were really seeing what they were seeing – Thorin, son of Thrain, King under the Mountain, risen from the very closely dead, something they had heard of but had not really gained solid proof of –, and then bowed their heads low, remaining that way until Thorin moved along. He always greeted them back.

Soon enough, word travelled to everyone who was close enough in the Mountain. As Thorin, Dwalin and Bilbo finally reached the Great Hall, many of the Dwarves had rushed there, including the ones in the Company, to see Thorin walk among them again. Even some of the people of Dale who had been given refuge in the Mountain were there.

If Bilbo had felt a little overwhelmed before, he had reason to feel even more so now. A few dozen people, Dwarves and Men alike, gathered under those tall marble walls, bathed in the sunlight that poured in from the bright day outside, bowing their heads at the same time, was a sight that would have weighed a little heavy on any heart. There was silence at first, a silence that marked this moment as a solemn one precisely because the Great Hall was usually a noisy place bustling with movement. Yet, as heads started to come back up, so did some of the voices, and soon, the Great Hall returned to a more subdued version of its usual atmosphere.

Not everyone resumed their activities, however. Fili, Kili and the other dwarves in the Company rushed to Thorin’s welcome, and with them came Dain as well. They were all visibly overjoyed. Fili and Kili dispelled all heaviness and solemnity from the air by almost knocking Thorin over with a big double hug. Thorin grunted a bit from having his remaining injuries stirred, but received his nephews into his arms with a rumble of laughter. Even Dain welcome his cousin with an embrace, although he was more careful with how much of his affection he expressed upon Thorin in that way.

“Welcome, cousin,” he said, “you are now officially back in the world of the living.”

“It is good to be back,” said Thorin.

“Well,” Dain went on, “we were just having lunch, and a few rounds of ale, of course. Won’t you join us?”

Everyone spoke up to endorse Dain’s invitation.

“Perhaps later, thank you,” said Thorin, “I really wanted to get some air first.”

“Oh, of course,” agreed Dain. “Just say the word, then, when you wish.”

“I certainly shall,” said Thorin.

He inclined his head slightly, in thanks for the attention he was receiving, although he was most probably expecting it, but also wanting to let everyone know that he intended to move on for the time being, towards the sunshine and fresh winter air waiting outside. The message was well-received as Dain and the others responded with a similar bow of their heads and made way for him to pass.

Then, Thorin and Dwalin resumed their journey, slow but steady enough, and Bilbo followed. He preferred not to look too closely at the people watching, not even at his friends. He exchanged a quick smile with Balin and Ori, but, for the rest, he kept his eyes either focused on the shoulder of Thorin’s coat, which was in his field of view, or unfocused at all. He continued in that way until they finally reached the terrace overlooking the Front Gate and the valley of Dale.

The terrace had begun to look more like it belonged to a living kingdom. Since Thorin, Bilbo and the others in the Company had stood there together before the battle, the floor had been cleared of debris, the rampart remade, whatever remained of Erebor’s flags flown and two guards had been posted at the main entrance from the city. Their martial posture and attire showed them to be members of Dain’s army, but they clearly recognised Thorin as their commander as well. They inclined their heads at his sight, looking only slightly taken by surprise. Thorin acknowledged their salute and Dwalin led him on to the rampart, where, on a bright day like that, one could get a far-reaching view of the land before the Mountain.

It was a view that had been darkened by clouds of snow and battle the last time that Thorin had looked at it. As he looked upon it now, he took in a deep breath and rested his hands on the thick stone ridge. Now it was white with snow and there were only a few clouds in the sky, far on the horizon. No rumour of unrest travelled to his ears from the valley, only voices hushed by distance, trading ordinary conversations on the activities of the day.

Thorin’s gaze shifted, as if pulled by a string, towards Ravenhill. He scrutinised the place for a while, his face growing only a shade darker, then he decided to speak to his companions.

“When I looked down from Ravenhill that day and saw that Erebor was ours again, I did not expect to ever enter it alive, nor walk out of it and look back.”

“To be entirely honest,” replied Dwalin, “neither did we for a while.”

Thorin smiled at him. “One might say I have been given a second chance… to make a fine figure as King under the Mountain.”

Dwalin smiled back and laid a hand on Thorin’s shoulder. “I have no doubt that you will. I’ll go back down to the lads. Call for me when you need me.”

Dwalin nodded his head in another salute and walked away, back into the Mountain.

Thorin turned to Bilbo with a lingering smile that was as soft as the sun on that day. “I suppose this second chance extends to my behaviour towards you as well,” he said. “I was not very courteous the last time we stood here together.”

“Thorin, we already talked about that. There is no need to revisit the subject.”

“Perhaps, but it is not so easily forgotten.”

“Well, perhaps not to you. It has been forgotten to me for quite some time.”

Thorin’s smile widened and paired with a little nod that acknowledged Bilbo’s forgiveness.

A moment of silence followed. They both looked out into the distance.

“If you’d like to be alone for a while, I can go, too,” said Bilbo eventually.

“No,” replied Thorin, “I have been alone long enough.” Thorin’s answer came easily, as if he did not really have to think about it.

Bilbo could only smile to that, and allow for another moment of silence. There was not much he could think to say, and perhaps it was better not to say anything further. He moved his gaze back to the vast landscape of the valley opening up at the foot of the Mountain, as did Thorin. There was something warm and comfortable in knowing that they could stand there without speaking to each other and not feel like they had to in order to fill the space between them. Something was already there and all they had to do was to let it be.

“Well,” Bilbo spoke again, as there were still things that needed to be talked about at some point. “That was a tad overwhelming back there.”

“Indeed,” said Thorin.

“You thought it was overwhelming, too?”

“A tad.”

“I thought you’d have grown used to it by now.”

“It does get easier with time, but it is not something one can get used to entirely.”

“Right,” said Bilbo and shifted a bit on his feet. “You know that I cannot see you in that way, at least not as they do.”

“Nor would I wish you to,” replied Thorin, facing Bilbo again.

He had that soft look on his face again, and in his eyes. They were a particularly icy shade of blue under the pure sunlight, undimmed by cloud or window glass. They looked almost unreal to Bilbo. They looked as if they glowed from within with a light as ancient as the world, like sparks from the Arkenstone. And yet, there was warmth in their ice, as there was warmth coming down from the sun on that day of still deep winter. Bilbo breathed out in relief and looked back to the valley, allowing his own eyes to be filled by sunlight, almost blinded by it for a moment. He knew that his newfound routine was most likely over, but he was not entirely disappointed in that.


	4. Beyond Borders

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy to present another chapter that I hope you enjoy!
> 
> ~Miriel

It was past midday and the sun was beginning to lose its blinding brightness as it travelled South over the valley of Dale. Bilbo and Thorin had been standing together on the terrace overlooking the Front Gate of Erebor for about half an hour, talking, but mostly not. It bothered neither of them, as neither struggled to find something new to say when silence naturally ensued.

After some time, however, as Bilbo had expected, Thorin let out a heavy sigh and looked at Bilbo with a weary smile.

“Time to go back?” asked Bilbo.

Thorin nodded his head.

“I’ll go get Dwalin. Hang on.”

Bilbo walked back inside the Mountain and went down the stairs into the Great Hall. After a quick look around, he spotted Dwalin standing not too far away, near one of the great pillars on each side of the entrance, talking to his brother. Dwalin caught sight of him almost at the same time – he was perhaps looking out for Bilbo coming down the stairs to get him – and met him half way.

“Thorin would like to come back inside now,” said Bilbo, looking up into what he expected to be Dwalin’s rough face. It was indeed Dwalin’s face up close, but it did not bear any particular roughness.

Dwalin acknowledged with a simple nod and even with the shade of a smile, then he started up the stairs. He acted surprisingly tolerant that day. Perhaps he was too glad that he was getting at least part of the Thorin he knew back to display any other reaction. It certainly made Bilbo’s life much easier. He did not follow the dwarf back up to the terrace, although he had meant to. Now that he had found the ever-kind Balin, he preferred to stay there and wait with him.

“So,” began Balin, finding himself alone with Bilbo and thus incapable of not striking up a conversation, “it seems the day we have all been waiting for has finally come.”

Bilbo smiled to him. He couldn’t help it. “So it seems.”

“He looks happy.”

“He has reason, finally.”

Balin smiled back, also because he couldn’t help it. He had always been the most calm and collected of the Dwarves, never allowing himself to despair no matter how difficult the circumstances. His confidence had really helped Bilbo maintain his hope that Thorin would pull through when the odds did not look to be in his favour. But even Balin seemed relieved now in a way that went beyond all that. Bilbo walked closer to him and said nothing more. He understood that Balin and the others had been waiting for this moment not just since the battle, but for much longer. There was not much more to be said about that.

Finally, Thorin and Dwalin appeared at the top of the stairs. There was no further commotion in the Great Hall at their appearance. People raised their heads to them, inevitably drawn to Thorin’s image in the flesh, but their awe made no further sound. They seemed to understand that even Thorin wanted and needed a break from being revered openly. They should have and did understand by now that he knew who he was and what he had to do all too well, even when he walked among them with a limp.

Thorin looked grateful for the atmosphere of utter normalcy in the room. He held on quite tightly to Dwalin’s arm as he stepped onto the floor of the Great Hall and met Bilbo and Balin again. He did not try to hide it. He seemed to want one simple thing: to sit down somewhere with his old friends, share a pint of Dwarvish ale and talk about something other than dragons, gold and war. And that was what they did.  

They spent the next couple of hours around a table in the Banquet Hall, Thorin, Bilbo, the Dwarves that had been part of the Company to take back Erebor, and Dain. This particular gathering and its atmosphere of disinterested merrymaking reminded Bilbo of the night when the Dwarves that he currently called his friends had invited themselves into his home and even arranged a regular party, but only while Thorin had been absent. Now he was present, and even if this was not exactly a party, the feeling of levity was the same, as were the lack of heavy topics in their conversation and the lack of dark clouds over anyone’s head. Time went by quickly enough for everyone to be surprised when Oin observed, in a moment of lucidity, that it had been dark outside for quite a while, and Thorin announced that he preferred to retire for the evening. Everyone bid him good night and expressed hopes that they would see him again the following day. Even if it would not be exactly the following day, they were sure that they would all see him again very soon, and it put a visible light on their faces that had not really been there before.

Soon enough, Bilbo and Thorin found themselves back in their quarters. Dwalin was there, too, as he had helped Thorin along the way.

“Thank you,” said Thorin as Dwalin helped him sit down on his bed.

“Do you want me to stay and help you change?” asked Dwalin, taking a step back.

“No, I think I shall manage,” replied Thorin, looking up at him.

Dwalin smiled and nodded. “Well, then, this has been quite a day. I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said and left the room.

A short moment of silence followed as Bilbo watched Dwalin walk slowly, without any particular hurry towards the door of Thorin’s bedroom. His walk betrayed nothing beneath his calm appearance, no implication of resentment over leaving Thorin alone with Bilbo, over what they would say to each other in his absence, or what they would do. It seemed a little surprising to Bilbo that Dwalin had come to terms so rapidly and easily with the fact that they now shared more than friendship. He had expected more nasty looks or at least some clandestine, silent acrimony to float his way unseen by the others especially on that day when Thorin had made his first step back into the world, which meant that he was actually feeling better.

“Are you well?” asked Thorin, making Bilbo look back at him after contemplating the door closed behind Dwalin.

“Yes, yes, of course,” said Bilbo, a little nervously, even though he didn’t quite know why.

Thorin squinted a bit at him. From Elves, to Men, to Hobbits and to Dwarves, squinting was usually a sign of doubt.

“I’m fine, really,” said Bilbo and went to sit down next to Thorin, in his armchair. “As Dwalin said, it has been quite a day.”

“Indeed, but I like how it ended,” said Thorin.

“Well, it hasn’t ended yet.”

“I mean, how the day ended. I was looking forward to having a pint with the Company again. Now the evening begins.”

It was Bilbo’s turn to squint a little. “You have a very precise division of time.”

“And you have a very precise division of meals.”

Bilbo laughed. “It hasn’t been that precise since going off on your adventure.”

“To be fair, it was Gandalf’s adventure. I thought of it more as a quest.”

“Well, I admit, maybe adventure is not the right word for what we went through. At least not in the sense that I used to think of it.”

“You didn’t want to come at first, is that right?”

Bilbo looked at him without saying anything for a while, but then he sighed a bit and answered. “Yes, even before you handed me a contract that covered my funeral arrangements in case I would be incinerated or eviscerated by a giant dragon.”

Thorin smirked and even allowed that smirk to evolve into a quiet, little laugh. “Why is that? You wanted to have an adventure of your own rather than reading about them in your books. Gandalf said you were different… than the other Hobbits.”

“No, I didn’t,” said Bilbo, “not by the time Gandalf had come to me offering me a place on a real adventure. I had met Gandalf as a child, and I certainly would have joined him on any adventure then, and even later as I grew up, the farther out into the world, the better. But in time, I… I became more like other Hobbits, I grew to love my home and the Shire more than the idea of knowing something else. Which is not a bad thing, necessarily-”

“No, of course not,” intervened Thorin, a little unexpectedly. “It is a very good thing to love your home.”

Bilbo smiled to him, acknowledging what he had actually said. “Indeed. But it is also a good thing to travel beyond it, and gain knowledge of the world. I had forgotten that. I had somehow become afraid of it, as if it would have spelled the death of something inside me.”

“Of what?”

“I don’t know, perhaps of the reluctance to leave, of the belief that I belonged only in the Shire.”

They looked at each other for a while, again without saying anything, both slightly surprised of where their conversation had led and of what had been said.

“You will always belong in the Shire,” said Thorin, his voice kind and warm like a fading fire.

“I know. But I do not have to be in the Shire to still be a Hobbit, or to still be myself.”

Thorin smiled and looked down at his hands gathered in his lap, a smile that came from deep within himself. He knew a lot about being true to himself even when being very far away from home.

“To think I have lived so close to you my whole life,” said Bilbo, making Thorin look back up at him. “You must have passed through the Shire a few times, on the East Road. It was in Bree that you met Gandalf and he convinced you to go on this quest, isn’t that true?”

“Yes,” said Thorin, “I have passed through the Shire a few times.”

“I suppose… we could have met earlier,” said Bilbo.

“It is not impossible,” replied Thorin.

“But then you would not have thought much of me, since you had no need for a grocer.”

Thorin smirked again. “Or you of me, since you preferred gardening to war.”

Bilbo laughed, and so did Thorin. It was good to laugh together like that.

“I still prefer gardening to war,” said Bilbo.

“Well, I can see why you would feel that way. I prefer a few things to war myself.”

“But gardening is not one of them.”

“No, not gardening precisely. Dwarves don’t… garden much.”

“I noticed. You are much better at building and forging things out of metal.”

“Or simply eating and drinking,” said Thorin.

Bilbo couldn’t retain another burst of laughter. “We Hobbits are quite good at that as well.”

It was indeed good to share a laugh together with Thorin, especially at the end of that day, which had been fairly demanding on Bilbo’s heart. He felt exhausted even though he hadn’t done much of anything that could amount to his idea of work. Thorin didn’t look much more animated either, in spite of his willingness to talk and ask questions. It had been a demanding day for him, too.

“Well,” said Bilbo, sitting up a little, “how do you plan to spend your evening?”

Thorin sighed. “I wanted to look over some papers, but I no longer think that is a good plan. I am slightly…” He hesitated, looking for a word, or for a way to replace a word he didn’t want to say.

“Tired?”

“Yes,” he replied, his voice low and barely audible.

Bilbo smiled and got up. “Are you sure you can manage on your own? I could still get Dwalin if you need help.”

“No, I can manage,” said Thorin. He planted his right hand against his bed and started trying to get up.

“Wait,” said Bilbo, “let me help.”

Bilbo jumped off his armchair, noticing that Thorin had actually stopped trying to get up on his own. He went over to his left side and offered his shoulder for Thorin to hold on to. That got him up without too much pain. Bilbo walked him to the bathroom door, then let him go slowly. He wanted to ask him again if he was going to be alright, but let that go as well. He simply watched Thorin smile convincingly enough and disappear behind the door.

For a second, Bilbo had the intention to listen in for any sounds of trouble but realised before he acted on it that it would not have been the most appropriate behaviour on his part no matter how well-intentioned. He sighed and went back to his armchair, his ears remaining alert even from a distance. Nothing happened, however, for a few good minutes. It appeared that Thorin was indeed capable of taking care of himself now, which was quite encouraging, as well as a relief. Bilbo decided to leave his armchair again and make up the bed for the night. It should have been a relief, but somehow, in the strangest fashion, the fact that Thorin was truly getting back on his feet, both literally and figuratively, was unsettling him and it did not feel comfortable.

He had almost finished making the bed when Thorin emerged from the bathroom. He appeared a little exhausted but otherwise fine. He had managed to change his day trousers with those he wore for bed. His shirt was unbuttoned, but still on, showing part of the white bandages that he still had wrapped around some of his healing wounds.

Bilbo smiled and went over to him to help him walk back to the bed.

“You’re still wearing your shirt,” said Bilbo, slightly breathless, as Thorin sat down on the side of his bed.

“Yes, I… could not get if off,” said Thorin, looking up at him, “because of my arm.”

“Oh, right,” said Bilbo.

“I was hoping you would help me with that.”

Bilbo stared at him, only part of his mind registering the request.

“Bilbo?”

“Oh, yes, yes, of course,” he answered finally, but still did not motion to comply with that request. He continued to stare at Thorin’s inoffensive expression, beginning to understand why the situation was making him nervous while it should have made him simply happy. “Right now?”

“If you do not mind,” said Thorin, lowering his forehead a bit in a very clear gesture of asking for consent.

“No, why would I mind?” said Bilbo, breathing in heavily. “I’m glad to help.”

He was not deceiving either himself or Thorin in saying that he was glad to help. He was most glad, but sometimes it required a kind of courage that he still doubted he had until he actually did what was necessary to gain proof. He did so now. He reached with both hands to the collar of Thorin’s shirt and began lowering it over his wide shoulders, the back of his hands brushing against his hair inevitably. Thorin looked down as he extracted his right arm from the shirt sleeve and kept his head down as Bilbo lowered the left sleeve of his shirt down his arm as gently as he could, then finally freed him from it entirely. It was as if Thorin knew that this was a little hard for Bilbo, even if it was nothing more than helping him with a task that was insignificant and ordinary. Of course he knew that this was not at all insignificant and not at all ordinary between them. He knew that, if he had been strong enough, it could have been the start of something a little terrifying but hopefully wonderful. He could feel that Bilbo’s hands were unsteady and that his fingers fluttered like a bee’s wings. He could probably even hear the increased rhythm of his heart. And that was why he preferred not to follow him with his eyes and add to an already difficult moment. He looked up at him, finally, when the shirt was off and lying on the bed near him. Bilbo kept his eyes hidden under his lashes, pointed safely to the shirt.  

“You are allowed to look, you know,” he said, and Bilbo could hear a very soft smile in his voice.

There was indeed one on his lips as well when he dared meet his eyes again. “Look at what?”

Thorin lowered his forehead again, this time meaning to avoid verbally stating the obvious.

Bilbo smiled back, finally feeling the tension in his body start to wear off. “I know,” he said, “it’s just that -”

“I know,” said Thorin, taking Bilbo’s left hand, which was hanging like a lifeless rag at his side, into his right one and kissing it with the utmost care.

This came as entirely unexpected to Bilbo, and if Thorin had intended to reassure him, he was managing only to make what Bilbo was feeling even harder to bear without doing something about it. What he had not expected was to be seen through so completely and understood, although perhaps he should have expected that, knowing what he knew about Thorin’s past.

As Thorin looked up to him again, releasing his hand, Bilbo gave in to what he was so afraid of and what he desired so deeply. He let both of his hands rest on Thorin’s warm shoulders and kissed him, really kissed him, for the first time since he had known that what he felt for him went beyond friendship, reverence or even love of any kind he had felt before.

When it was over, and he was able to see Thorin again, he noticed that he had kept his expression of patience, although Bilbo had expected that to change as a result of his daring gesture. And yet, Thorin was looking up at him with the same softness that had graced his features before, exalted only by the unmistakable glow of happiness. Bilbo finally felt free to feel like himself again as he looked into Thorin’s eyes and as his fingers still tasted his bare skin. Thorin sighed and leaned into Bilbo’s clothed chest, burying his face there.

Bilbo caressed his head and ran his fingers deeply through his hair. “What are we going to do, Thorin?” he asked, letting out a long breath.

“Whatever’s necessary,” mumbled Thorin from his warm hiding place.

“Even if some might object?”

“Even so.”

Bilbo thought for a bit. “And even if it might take a while?”

“Even.”

Bilbo smiled and leaned his head slowly to Thorin’s. “Go to bed before you fall asleep like this.”

Thorin began laughing and looked up at him, then nodded in agreement.

“I’ll be with you soon,” said Bilbo and went to make his own preparations for bed.

When he returned, Thorin was already asleep, as he had predicted. He extinguished the candle at his side, then slipped into bed carefully so as not to wake him, although something told him that it would have taken a bit of noise. Bilbo settled on his own pillow and watched Thorin for a while, as he did every night, until he surrendered to sleep as well. Sleep did not come so easily that night, however. Although his evening had ended well in spite of feeling a little restless all day, now, in the quiet of the night, some of his earlier anxiety had come back, not entirely to his surprise.


End file.
